Keigo didn’t know what he expected when he walked into that private hospital.

But it definitely wasn’t the tiny, sun-washed room where you sat curled under a blanket, eyes unfocused, looking half like yourself and half like a memory he’d been chasing for years.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment.

“…Y/N?” His voice cracked in the middle of your name.

You turned slowly. Blinking. As if waking up.

And then—

Your eyes widened.

“Keigo?”

He smiled, a breathless, broken thing. “You still recognize me.”

You stared at him, the shock so obvious it almost hurt to see.

He stepped closer, hesitant at first, until he was close enough to see every detail the years had carved into you.

You looked older. Tired. But still you.

Still the person he used to drag out of bed at the HPSC cafeteria. Still the one who used to steal his pudding cups just to spite the trainers. Still the one he held together when your illness flared so badly you couldn’t hold a spoon steady.

He swallowed hard.

“I finally found you,” he said quietly. “It took years, but… I’m here.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap.

“They didn’t let anyone come see me,” you whispered. “Not even you.”

“I know,” he muttered, jaw clenching. “They didn’t even tell me where they moved you. I came back from my debut briefing and—”

His breath stuttered. He looked away.

“And you were gone.”

You flinched, guilt flickering across your face.

“You weren’t supposed to worry about me on your debut day.”

“I wanted to celebrate with you,” he said, voice low. “That whole week, you weren’t doing well, remember? You kept spacing out, forgetting meals… You couldn’t even lift your chopsticks right.”

Your eyes softened — fragile, blurry at the edges.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I remember.”

Keigo huffed a weak laugh.

“You say that now, but you were stubborn as hell. Wouldn’t eat unless someone forced you.”

“And who forced me?” you said, lifting your eyes.

“You know who,” he muttered.

There had been nights when you were trembling, confused, completely overwhelmed — and he’d sit beside you with a bowl of soup, feeding you slowly, talking softly until you could breathe again. Nights when you’d lean against him because the world felt too loud and he’d stay awake until you fell asleep.

He took a slow breath.

“You scared me every time,” he admitted. “But I never… I never resented taking care of you.”

Your lip trembled.

“I thought I was a burden.”

“No.” His voice was firm. Immediate.

“Never to me.”

You looked up the same moment he did, and your eyes met — years of silence collapsing, colliding.

You finally noticed the empty space behind him.

“…Your wings,” you whispered.

He shrugged lightly. “They’re gone.”

You swallowed.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not as much as missing you did.”

You froze.

Keigo rubbed the back of his neck, awkward, boyish, nothing like the hero the world used to worship.

“I know it’s sudden,” he said softly, “but… I want to be part of your life again. If you’ll let me.”

Your eyes watered — slowly spilling over.

“I never stopped wanting you here.”

That was all it took.

Keigo moved closer, pulling a chair to your bedside and taking your hand gently, like you were something precious he thought he’d lost forever.

“I’m staying,” he murmured, resting his forehead on your knuckles. “For as long as you want. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Keigo…”

He looked up.

“You took care of me back then,” you whispered. “Even when I couldn’t think straight. Even when I forgot things. Even when I cried for no reason.”

He squeezed your hand.

“And I’ll keep taking care of you,” he said. “But only if you want me to.”